The Howling

Chapter Eighteen

When he was a hundred yards down the grassy road toward the village, Roy Beatty slowed down. His anger had melted away, and he was ashamed of the way he had spoken to Karyn. He reminded himself what she had been through, and that the only reason they came to this isolated valley was to help her. The last thing in the world he should be doing now was losing his temper and storming out of the house like some sulky adolescent.

But a werewolf! It had to be, Roy decided, Inez Polk who was putting such ideas into Karyn's head. He wished now that he had gone over to the car when he came out of the house and had it out with the woman. But at the time he had been too angry. All he wanted to do was get away.

Well, no, that was not quite right. His real reason for going to the village, he had to admit, was to see Marcia Lura one more time. He would have to tell Marcia he was leaving. It would not be easy, but it was impossible to simply go without seeing her again. His emotional bond to the green-eyed woman was too strong to allow that. Roy could not put a name to the emotion between him and Marcia. Not love, certainly, not in the sense that he loved Karyn. Lust was more accurate. Sheer physical attraction. Chemistry. And yet there was more to it than that. Marcia Lura had introduced him to sensual delights that were beyond anything he had experienced. Beyond anything he had imagined. No, it would not be easy to leave what he had found here.

Roy came to the main road that led into the village. As he turned and walked toward the gift shop he tried and rejected a number of opening remarks for what he must say to Marcia. There was no way to soften it.

In a way, he told himself, it was good that this business with Karyn had come up now. Eventually he would have had to break off with Marcia, and the longer he put it off, the more difficult it would be. Her hold on him would grow with every meeting. It was like a strange sweet sickness.

The village of Drago was bright and empty. Eddies of dust curled along the main street in the light breeze. The shadows of afternoon had barely begun to darken the valley. Roy turned at Marcia Lura's gift shop and pushed in through the door.

The bell over the door tinkled, an incongruously merry sound that did not match his mood. He peered around in the perpetually dim light of the shop.

Marcia came in through the curtains in the rear that separated the shop from her living quarters. She wore tight-fitting pants that hugged her thighs and belled out at the ankles. A striped blouse was open several buttons down, revealing an amulet on a gold chain that hung in the crevice between her breasts.

"Hello, Roy," she said. "I wasn't expecting you until later."

For a moment he stood looking at her without speaking. Her pale-green eyes were softly luminous in the dusk. The black hair had an animal sheen to it that reflected blue highlights. She was so beautiful it brought a lump to his throat.

"I have to talk to you, Marcia," he said finally.

"All right. Come in the back." She reached out a slim arm to part the curtains.

For a moment Roy hesitated. Somewhere deep in his subconsciousness a warning sounded, but the nearness of the woman, the heat of her body, the scent of her, overpowered his doubts. He walked through the curtain into her rooms.

"I was having some tea," she said. "Let me make you a cup."

Without waiting for him to answer, Marcia went to her small gas range and turned up the flame under a copper teakettle. From a canister she spooned crumbled leaves into a cup, then added a few drops of thick liquid from an opaque bottle. Roy watched, fascinated by the grace of even her smallest movements.

When the water was boiling Marcia poured it into the cup and stirred the mixture. She carried the cup across the room and set it on a low table before the sofa.

"Let the tea steep for a minute before you drink it," she said. She sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to her.

Roy sat down beside her, but was careful not to let their bodies touch. To keep from looking into her eyes, he busied himself stirring the tea. Its aroma was a mixture of spices with a hint of something bitter.

"You wanted to talk to me," Marcia said.

"Yes."

"About us?"

"In a way. And about Karyn. She isn't getting any better."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. I'm going to have to take her away from here."

"You're leaving Drago?"

"I have to."

For the briefest fraction of a second Marcia's body stiffened. The pale-green eyes narrowed, and Roy saw a flash there of something dark and dangerous. Then it was gone. Marcia was poised again, cool and lovely, and Roy thought he must have imagined the moment.

"How soon must you go?" Her throaty voice was without emotion.

"Tomorrow."

"I see. Your tea should be ready to drink now."

Roy looked down at the cup as though wondering where it had come from. He lifted it to his lips and sipped the dark brew. It had a sweet, wild taste.

"Do you like it?" she asked. "It's a very old recipe."

"It's fine," he said quickly. "Marcia, I don't want to talk about the tea."

"About what, then?"

"I hate to leave you. Do you know that?"

"I know," she said. "But we never pretended it was forever, did we?"

"No, but I want you to know that it wasn't just a… a fling for me. You've been something very special in my life. You've given me something I've never known. I'll never forget you, Marcia."

Marcia leaned toward him. Again he had the delicious sensation of being drawn into those deep green eyes. Into them and down to unknown depths.

"No," she said softly. "You never will forget me. Drink your tea, darling."

He raised the cup and drank. The pungent steam brought tears to his eyes. When he put the cup back down in the saucer he was surprised to see that his hand was shaking.

Marcia watched him. She reached over and placed her hand on his leg. The fingers seemed to sear his flesh through the cloth. His world shrank to this room and this hour and this woman.

He touched her hair. His hand moved to the back of her neck and pulled her head toward him. They kissed, their mouths open, tongues mating. When at last he pulled back a little way, Roy was breathing heavily.

"I do love you, Marcia," he said.

She shook her head. "No. You admire me. You want me. You may even need me. But you do not love me."

Roy started to say something more, but she stopped him.

"Not yet," she said. "You do not love me yet. But you will, my Roy, you will."

He kissed her again. His hand moved down the long smooth curve of her back to her firm, round hip. Marcia's body moved under his hand, and he felt that she was wearing nothing beneath the blouse and pants.

Marcia drew back her head and looked into his eyes. The corners of her mouth curled upward in the suggestion of a smile.

"Tell me what you want, Roy." She ran her tongue across her teeth. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

"I want to make love to you," he said.

"Not like that. Tell me in the real words. The words you say to me when we are naked together."

"I want to fuck you."

"Yes. Yes. And what else?"

"I want to taste you."

"Where?"

"Your breasts. Your nipples. Your cunt. I want to kiss you and taste you there and everywhere."

"And do you want to be inside me?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"Tell me."

"I want to be inside you. Deep inside. All the way."

"And do you want me to take it in my mouth?"

"Yes."

"And roll my tongue around it and kiss it and suck the sweet drops from it?"

"Oh, God, Marcia, yes!"

All rational thought was driven from Roy's mind by his pounding desire. With every fiber of his being he wanted to possess this black-haired, smooth-limbed woman. He wanted her sexually, carnally, totally. Nothing else was real. At that moment, had it been necessary, Roy Beatty would have killed to get her.

Marcia slipped out of his grasp and stood up. She undid the remaining buttons of her blouse, stripped it from her shoulders, and tossed it away, paying no attention to where it fell. She moved back in front of Roy and leaned down to put a hand on each of his knees. As he sat looking up at her, she spread his legs and stepped between them. She moved her hands then to the back of his neck. Clasping her fingers there, she pulled his face forward into the soft, warm valley of her breasts.

Roy inhaled the mingled musk and sandalwood. He tasted the salt of her flesh and the metal of the amulet she wore. He bit down on the soft chain and it snapped. The amulet fell softly to the carpet.

Marcia backed away from him again, and Roy stood up, fumbling with his clothes. His erection thrust forward like a lance.

Quickly Marcia unzipped the pants she wore and slipped them down her long legs and off. She stood before him smoothly naked, proud of her body. Roy moved toward her, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. Watching his face, she let her free hand dip down between them. The fingers curled around his penis.

"You are ready for me, my man," she said. "Aren't you?"

"I'm ready," he whispered.

She released him, turned her back, and dropped suddenly to her hands and knees. "Then ride me, my lover. Ride me!"

With the blood roaring in his head, Roy went to his knees behind her. She raised her buttocks to him. He thrust forward and penetrated. At once he started to withdraw.

"No," she commanded. "Leave it there. Give it to me there."

With his hands planted on Marcia's ivory-smooth cheeks, Roy drove into her a centimeter at a time. She let her head sink to the floor, the side of her face pressed against the carpet. To meet each of his thrusts she pushed back with her hips. From deep in her throat came a soft growling moan.

With a final painful shove Roy buried the full length of his organ in her. There he was held fast, as though gripped by burning fingers. He knew that at any second he would climax up there.

"No," she said. The single syllable held him like a physical barrier.

They froze in position. The excruciating sensuality made him want to cry out, but he knew any movement would bring on the explosion. Marcia raised her head and turned to look at him. Her eyes blazed green.

"We aren't through with each other yet, are we, my lover?"

Fraction by slow tight fraction he withdrew. Half a dozen times he was an eye blink from climax, but each time Marcia's phenomenal control of her muscles stopped him, held him in check, until at last he was out of her.

During the timeless span that followed, Marcia Lura led Roy along paths of physical joy he had never traveled. With unfailing instinct she did exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment. By turns she submitted to him wholly, then took the lead and became the aggressor. Sexual fantasies locked in Roy's mind since childhood sprang to vivid life. Time and again he would be at the brink of orgasm, and each time Marcia would stop him just short of total release and bring him back.

The shadows of evening moved into the valley and darkened the windows of Marcia's small apartment, but the people within had no sense of time. For Roy Beatty the universe consisted of the hills and hollows, the knowing hands, and the wet, clinging orifices of the wild black-haired woman.

When at last she brought him to the finish he was in a kneeling position. She lay on her back with her head away from him, her elbows propped on the floor, her legs scissored behind his back. Their movement, in and out, together and apart, was not more than an inch. Marcia's eyes never left his face.

"Now!" she said suddenly. And again, "Nowwwwww!" drawing it out in a husky growl.

Roy let go, and the explosion pulled him inside out. It was like being born, and it was like dying. Every good sensation of his life was jammed into the heaving, sweating climax. He spurted hot and hard and emptied himself into her. They cried out together, and their cry became a scream, and at last it was finished.

Roy fell back, and for long, long minutes he lay motionless on the soft carpet. It was as though all the nerves of his body had been severed. He had not enough strength to make a fist.

Marcia slid up to lie beside him. He did not open his eyes, but he could smell her, smell the sex of her and their mingled sweat, and still the gentle sandalwood. He wanted to cry. Then he felt the tears slide down his face and he knew he was crying.

"Marcia…"

"Hush." She stopped his lips with her fingers.

"But I want to tell you — "

"No, there is nothing more to be said. It is time now for you to go." She moved away from him.

Slowly Roy sat up. He felt drained. Empty. Across the room Marcia lit a candle, and for the first time he realized night had come.

She walked around gathering up his clothes and brought them to him. He dressed silently and methodically while she sat in the shadows watching him. When he was finished dressing he crossed to the back door. There he hesitated and turned, wanting to say something to her. She shook her head no, and he went out and closed the door behind him.

Walking home along the path through the woods, Roy fought against the still-fresh memory of what had happened to him this night. He knew he must not think about it now. Maybe not ever. Not if he was to live a normal life again.

To keep his mind busy he tried concentrating on the problems of his work. No good. His work was too far away, and the feel of Marcia's body was still on his skin. But he must not think of her. He recited the Greek alphabet aloud. Forward first, then backward.

"Omega, psi, chi, phi, upsilon…" He stopped. He was being followed.

The sound was a soft, rhythmic thud as of something trotting after him on padded paws. Roy peered back along the path where moonlight filtered down through the trees to make bright patches on the trail. As he watched, a lean shadow moved swiftly through one of the pools of moonlight.

As the shadow loped through the next patch of light Roy saw what it was. A wolf. But more than a wolf. A long-bodied black creature moving toward him with power and assurance. Its mouth was drawn back in a grotesque animal grin. And the eyes. The eyes knew him.

Before Roy could react the beast pushed off with powerful hind legs and hit him full in the chest. He staggered back under the blow and instinctively wrapped his arms around the animal. The strength of the beast was unnatural. He could feel the play of its muscles under the thick fur. The wolf's hind feet dug into the dirt and it forced Roy steadily backward.

The face of the wolf was only an inch from his own. Its breath, hot and damp, hissed in his ear. The glistening teeth, as long as two of his finger joints, snapped at the air and moved closer to his throat.

Inexorably, a step at a time, Roy was forced back by the superior strength of the wolf. He clutched at the thick neck fur, but could not pull the thing's face away from his. As he was pushed back off the path, Roy's foot caught in a tangle of fern and he crashed to the ground on his back.

With the beast astride him now, Roy flailed at it with his fists, but his blows had no more effect than those of a baby. The thin black lips of the wolf stretched in a snarl of triumph.

While Roy still struggled to free himself, the wolf's head dipped and the cruel teeth bit effortlessly through his shirt and the flesh of his shoulder. Through the explosion of pain Roy could hear the teeth grating on bone. His right arm went dead, and his will to resist died with it.

In his last moment of consciousness Roy looked into the face of the wolf. The muzzle was smeared now with bright fresh blood. And again the eyes. He knew the eyes. And he knew he was lost. Roy arched his neck, baring his throat to the killer teeth.